


The Twelve Steps of Pair Bonding

by MKK



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Affection, Bonding, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:10:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2452559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKK/pseuds/MKK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian Bashir and Elim Garak journey step by step through the twelve stages of bonding, leading to greater and greater physical and emotional intimacy - and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "The Twelve Step Sequence of Pair Bonding" was first proposed by English sociobiologist Desmond Morris in his book Intimate Behavior (1971.) His idea was that a relationship that progresses in order through all twelve steps finds itself stronger and more solid at the end, and that couples would do well to follow these steps at the start and in every new stage of their relationship.
> 
> I wanted to apply this idea to Garak and Bashir, despite the m/f implication in the original source. While many G/B stories very rapidly steer them to the bedroom, and often in very enjoyable ways, I also love the slow buildup, taking time for the physical and emotional relationship to grow. The reward of total intimacy is earned after some time and effort is put forth on both sides - I believe these two are in it for life! I've illustrated each step with a vignette from their 'courtship' - my idea was that these progressed over a period of several months, and other, similar encounters occurred at the same time, all building on each other.
> 
> Language note: This is my personal preference - I believe that many adult Cardassians of Garak's generation speak rather fluent Bajoran too, and probably also Klingon (after a fashion) and that members of the military or the intelligence community, just as in our own culture, learn other languages as a matter of course. Thus, my own opinion is that the universal translator is used for exploration, not daily life. Languages still need to be learned and spoken. And Cardassians, I believe, have a greater than average talent for that!

Inspired by: The Twelve Step Sequence of Pair Bonding; Desmond Morris, INTIMATE BEHAVIOR (1971.)

Step 1: Eye To Body

Doctor Julian Bashir was much too nervous, during his first encounter with the enigmatic Cardassian tailor and presumed spy Elim Garak in the replimat, to do much more than awkwardly fidget with his hands, the tableware, and the flowers. He was too much aware of his own body not to know that he had also felt a definite stirring - for lack of a better term - of interest throughout that body when Garak had touched him, but he wasn't sure if that was because he hadn't really been touched by anyone, anyone at all, in such a long time, or because he wanted THIS particular touch.

He, of course, did not even imagine returning the gesture. He could barely look Garak in the eye, and when he startled both himself and the Cardassian with his sudden flurry of interest in Garak's supposed "spy" activities, he was very quickly and decisively, if politely, put in his place.

So it was no small wonder that, over the next few days, his eyes followed Garak with an intensity almost bordering on obsession. He watched him as Garak strolled down the Promenade, shoulders held high with confidence, even if sham confidence; he watched him as Garak sat alone in Quark's, brooding over a datapadd and nursing a solitary drink; he watched him as Garak sat in the tiny theater on the station, listening with rapt attention to a string quartet, eyes closed in peaceful contemplation. Bashir watched him and wondered what it would be like to be next to him, to be near that Cardassian body, to brush against him and feel the sturdiness and the softness too.

Bashir was already reasonably familiar with Gul Dukat's outward, physical form - Dukat was handsome, confident, almost preening, strong like a tree and as direct as an arrow. Garak, on the other hand, was - well, you could HUG Garak, Bashir felt certain, you could put your arms around him and squeeze and be enveloped in his comforting embrace. Garak's body was like that too - comforting, tender, supportive, like a - like a teddy bear. A big Cardassian teddy bear, not too thin, not too tall, not too hard, just... just right. Bashir smiled, and continued surreptitiously watching, fascinated. He had no idea if Garak was watching too. He was.

 

Step 2: Eye to Eye

Bashir quietly fell in love with Garak in Quark's bar. Not over drinks, not over dinner, not in a holosuite, not while chatting and sharing bets at the dabo wheel... He fell in love with him without the Cardassian even being aware, at first, that Bashir was in the same room.

Bashir had stopped in at the bar to chat with Dax, whom he had spied through the panels near the door - she was sitting at a table on the main level and had signaled to Bashir as he walked past. So he entered, sat down with her, and kept her company while she finished her lunch. As they talked, he noticed Garak come into the bar and stand at the counter, evidently waiting for an order he had placed to be brought out to him - a take-away or take-out order from Quark's! Bashir, fascinated, kept looking over in his direction to see just what sort of take-out lunch the Cardassian would favor - and why had he not simply gone over to the replimat for that? He must like Quark's food more than he ever let on to Bashir...

Quark appeared behind the counter, bustling about distractedly, and an instant later, so did Rom, carrying a wrapped package obviously meant for Garak. The two Ferengi backed into one another, turned, and began to vociferously argue - tensions were running high but the effect was comical rather than uncomfortable, the two large Ferengi heads bobbing about, the two short Ferengi arms waving. Garak was gazing wonderingly at them, his mouth slightly open in amazement, his expression resigned. Then his eye caught Bashir's eye and, in sudden, total, and perfect understanding, the two men exchanged thoughts through that contact in an instant, scarcely even knowing that it was happening.

"Isn't this ridiculous? Don't they both look silly?"

"I know! I feel sorry for you - all you wanted was to pick up lunch and go. Poor man."

"Well, I do rather enjoy the show, but I think I've had enough of these two."

"If I had known you wanted to eat at Quark's today..."

"Yes, what ARE you doing here? With Dax? I thought -"

"We're friends. But I'd rather be having lunch with you."

"Doctor?"

"Garak?"

The moment was over - Garak had finally been handed the package, bowed to Quark, and exited, without even glancing Bashir's way again. Their eye contact, after all, had truly lasted less than an instant. But it was enough. Bashir vowed from that moment on, whatever it would mean and however he could make it happen, that he was going to get to know that enigmatic man much, much better. Back in his shop, feeling vaguely dissatisfied even though Rom had gotten his order completely correct for a change, Garak stared off into space - what he was really gazing into were, once more, Bashir's beautiful hazel eyes.

 

Step 3: Voice to Voice

Ah, those lunchtime conversations - how they could go on and on, how every word could contain such meaning and yet, at the same time, contain no meaning at all - Bashir found himself dreamily gazing into Garak's blue eyes and watching the way those eyes mirrored every emotion that his words evoked - in one moment, he'd be critical of some obscure opinion of some equally obscure Cardassian politician, and his eyes would narrow in annoyance; in the next, he'd be expounding on the virtues of warm kanaar to settle an upset stomach, and his eyes would crinkle with amusement. Bashir was never totally sure if he was putting him on or not, those times.

What he was sure of, though, was that he never wanted the conversations to end. Oh, it wasn't just the fact that he found Garak absolutely fascinating, and loved to watch him, loved the way his full lips and his white teeth pronounced the words in Federation Standard that he had finally become comfortable speaking, loved the way his whole expression changed when he was relaying something in Kardasi or in Klingon before translating for Bashir. The hint of true alien-ness, if that itself was a word, thrilled Bashir down to his soul.

But there was something more. It was the fact that Garak really LISTENED to him. He didn't simply sit and wait politely for his turn to speak, he didn't watch patiently for a chance to contradict the doctor or display some bit of arcane knowledge that he was sure Bashir wouldn't know, he didn't go over lists or errands or previous conversations in his head, he simply sat watching him and... listened. So Bashir, for his part, talked. And talked. It became a source of amusement to others on the station just how MUCH Bashir could talk, but he had Garak to thank for that. It was so easy to talk when one could always be sure of having someone who very much wanted to listen.

But so far, all they did was talk. The one time that anything more had been hinted at, it was Bashir who had done the hinting, only to be politely - very politely but very definitely - declined.

"Garak - thank you."

"'Thank you', doctor? For what?"

"For listening. You have no idea how much fun it is for me to actually have someone CARE about my visit to Deep Space Seven."

"Of course I care - your descriptions are absolutely fascinating, doctor." So too was the fact that the doctor had met not a single Cardassian on that station, or any other eligible and interested potential companions - Garak breathed an inward sigh of relief and continued to listen, completely absorbed. "I think you must have made quite an impression on their medical staff - it sounds as if they have no one there with anything close to your level of expertise. How strange that you were assigned to a place as far away as DS9."

"I could have had any posting I wanted, Garak." Bashir loved to bring that up, to anyone who would listen, but Garak was the only one who ever seemed properly impressed. And he was, again.

"And I'm so grateful you chose our humble home." He gave a little seated half-bow and Bashir smiled happily in return.

"It looks like they're closing up here..." That was an understatement; the replimat was already in half-darkness and chairs had been moved away from every other table in preparation for early-morning cleaning in a few hours. "Um - Garak -" Bashir leaned toward him and Garak instinctively leaned forward too, "we could continue our conversation in Quark's, or, if you wish..."

"Yes, doctor?"

"We could go back to my quarters and talk there." He really didn't mean - he really just wanted the conversation to continue and of course couldn't very well invite himself to Garak's room - but then too, bringing Garak back to his quarters could also... possibly...

"Quark's, I think." Said matter-of-factly, no awkwardness, no wish to embarrass the other. A simple statement of preference - or what he wished to convey as his preference, anyway.

"Quark's. Yes, great." They rose to leave; both pairs of eyes avoiding the other, both hearts filled with a vague sense of regret, both minds acknowledging that it was just a little too soon. For now.

 

Step 4: Hand to Hand

How silly it had seemed, in a way - how utterly, thoroughly corny. How silly and yet how appropriate, when it finally happened. Elim Garak and Julian Bashir had gone for a late evening stroll in the arboretum, if such it could be called - it was in actuality just a large greenhouse, divided into several winding aisles of plants, with benches strategically placed for resting and for contemplation. Some of the plants were flowering, dispersing a very pleasant and exotic scent into the air - these flowers were from at least a dozen different worlds so it was impossible to tell whether one was walking among the gardens of Vulcan, Betazed, Earth, or who knew where - and thus the mixture was even more intoxicating.

The floor was textured for traction, as many of the plants were watered with misting sprays and sprinklers - but every so often, a puddle of water or condensation would collect, making the footing a little uncertain. It was in fact because of one of these little puddles that Bashir began to slip - just barely, and he could easily have caught himself either by his own balancing efforts or by catching hold of a nearby shelf - but instead, it was Garak who reached out and grabbed hold of his hand, steadying him. It happened in an instant and was totally inconsequential - it was so obviously not deliberate on the part of either man, just a momentary slip and then a quick, reflexive assist. Really nothing at all.

So why, then, did the Cardassian not release the human's hand as soon as the assistance was no longer needed? Why then did the two continue their exploration of the warm, humid, deserted setting, hand in hand, two fingers of one hand loosely laced through two fingers of the other's?

Was it possible, Bashir thought to himself, that Garak simply forgot what he was doing and was absorbed in the beauty of the luxuriant vegetation?

Was it possible, Garak thought to himself, that Bashir simply forgot what he was doing and was absorbed in the beauty of the luxuriant vegetation?

Was it instead possible that the two knew exactly what they were doing as they walked, each hoping the other would continue the contact even after they sat down on a bench to talk? They did, and even managed to re-establish that contact for a while as they walked back to the habitat ring - despite the fact that, realistically, there was very little danger any longer of slipping...

 

Step 5: Hand to Shoulder

Garak knew he had gone too far, as soon as it happened, in his first meeting with the doctor - he knew that placing his hands on the young man's shoulders, so lingeringly and possessively, could possibly be taken as a sign of definite interest but was, alas, more likely to be interpreted as forward and presumptuous. But what was done was done and he could not take back the sudden impulse that had caused him to make that contact. Standing behind the doctor as he was then, he couldn't see, but could sense, that Bashir's eyes had widened with shock and nervousness but not, unfortunately, with desire - no, he had misjudged the situation in his eagerness, and had never approached the doctor in anything close to that way again until the recent encounter in the arboretum.

But now they were alone together in an observation lounge, looking through a telescope and marveling at the sight of the galaxy all around them. The faint ribbon of the Milky Way glowed across the sky and Bashir eagerly directed Garak's attention to a spot near the western edge of the viewport. Garak swung the telescope back toward himself, re-adjusted the focus, and once more peered through the eyepiece.

"See it, Garak? Do you see that area, near the bright blue star?"

Garak nodded.

"Well, of course I can't expect that you're able to distinguish one yellow star out of that whole cloud, but that's where Sol is! And Earth! My home! You're actually seeing my home star, Garak!" In his enthusiasm, he leaned toward the Cardassian and placed a hand on his shoulder for balance as he pointed toward the stars through the window. Garak didn't move, and the warm hand continued to rest on him, in fact resting through his clothing on the ridges that ran from the neck all down the shoulder; the sensation was both comforting and arousing and Garak nearly closed his eyes in contentment.

"You know, I so seldom do this kind of thing -" Garak opened his eyes again, startled, "- I mean, just looking at the stars and realizing just how beautiful this all is. I get so wrapped up in station business, in day to day things, that I never even consider that - my God! - I'm out in space! I'm among the stars! I'm traveling between stars and planets as if it were nothing! Do you realize," and he leaned down till his head was close to Garak's own, "that I read a paper on the way to Bajor once? Didn't even look out the window? What the hell was I thinking?" He grinned.

Garak grinned back, a little more distractedly. Bashir's hand remained on his shoulder, as he continued to gaze at the stars in silent contemplation. Garak blinked, then put his eye again to the telescope and pretended to look through it once more; Bashir smiled quietly to himself and very, very gently, so gently that Garak probably wouldn't even think twice about it, gave the shoulder a little squeeze. There. It was done.

 

Step 6: Hand to Waist

"Stop squirming, doctor - this fits exactly the way it's supposed to."

"But it's a little uncomfortable, Garak - I think it's too tight!"

"And here I thought you enjoyed showing off your athletic physique."

"Well, I DO, but I feel like a stuffed sausage in this coat."

"What an unfortunate image - my beautiful brocade being likened to a sausage casing... All right, come here. Let me see if I can let it out a little without compromising the lines..." He smoothed the fabric over Bashir's shoulders, then pulled the back of the garment slightly away from his body and analyzed the seam. "Are you SURE it's -"

"Yes." Bashir stood still and wished that Garak would pat him again, but no such luck - he was instructed to remove the coat, which he did, handing it back to the Cardassian and watching him patiently. Garak strode to the counter, quickly undid a seam, looked over at Bashir speculatively as if taking a measurement again, then melded the seam together in a temporary fix, asking Bashir to again don the coat while they both turned to look at his reflection in the mirror.

"Better?"

"Yes." Bashir raised his arms and moved them up and down, testing the fit.

"Why don't you fasten it all the way and let's see how it feels now." Bashir did so; Garak stood close beside him, watching and then reaching out and taking hold of the fabric on either side of Bashir's slim waist. "There seems to be just enough give here..." Bashir nodded. "In fact, it feels quite - comfortable - here." His hands moved to grasp Bashir's waist through the coat, then his arms followed until the two were standing face to face with Garak's arms wrapped loosely around Bashir's waist, their noses nearly touching, their eyes locked onto each other. Barely breathing, the doctor then reached out his arms and circled Garak's thicker waist, pulling him closer. And closer. And then - then the door slid open and the men separated instantly.

"I'll take it!" Bashir loudly proclaimed, avoiding the slightly irritated glances of the two Bajoran customers.


	2. Chapter 2

Step 7: Face to Face

Bashir had begun to obsess a bit over the thought of the "first kiss"; he had formerly assumed that it was simply a matter of when, not if. Then he began to wonder if possibly IF was a more appropriate term, as Garak was showing no sign that the little interlude in his shop meant anything after all. There had, in fact, been no physical contact of any kind between the two for several days - not even so much as a handshake, and Bashir was beginning to wonder just how seriously his friend was taking their incipient flirtation, or if it was simply a game that he had begun to grow a little tired of.

And yet - the conversations continued as before, the frequency of the meetings had not abated, and the walks back to their separate destinations at the conclusion of their meals were becoming a little slower, a little more lingering. But the maddening fact was that Bashir had absolutely no idea if Garak would welcome any sort of deeper contact. And if he would, was he waiting for Bashir to make the next move in an effort to preserve his dignity, just in case any overtures on his part would be rejected? It was indeed a truly maddening game and Bashir was, himself, becoming a little tired of it.

Thus, when the two men next found themselves alone, in a corridor of the habitat ring, heading back to their rooms after a late night playing cards with Dax and a visiting friend of hers - of Curzon's, actually - Bashir did his best to force the issue. He leaned against Garak's sturdy shoulder. He nearly brushed his face against Garak's face as he laughed about something the Cardassian had said. He then took Garak's arm and slid his hand down until their fingers were, again, entwined. Garak never resisted a single move but he never initiated one either, and Bashir was becoming a little discouraged. They were practically at his quarters now and he knew that Garak, already pleading an early appointment the next day, would never come inside. So this was going to be it.

They stood at the doorway. Bashir knew he had to ask anyway.

"Would you like to come in for a while?"

"No thank you, doctor - I have to be up in less than five hours - I'd really better be going." Bashir nodded his understanding. "Thank you for inviting me along this evening - I really enjoyed spending time with your friends."

"They enjoyed it too. Poker is most definitely your game. And I thought no one could beat Dax."

Garak smiled - a little reminiscent of the way he had smiled all throughout the games - and bowed. "Well... good night, doctor."

"Good night."

Neither man moved.

"See you at lunch," Bashir added, still not moving.

"Yes, I'll see you then." Garak stood a meter or so away from him and silently regarded him.

"I'll be going inside now." KISS ME, Elim. I call. Show your hand.

"Yes." KISS ME, Julian. I've already folded - why are you still playing?

"See you tomorr-" Both men lunged for each other simultaneously, grasped each other around the shoulders in a tight embrace, and kissed. And kissed. At first, lips against soft, willing lips, then deeper kisses with tongues pressing against lips and tongues in a way that left each man breathless. They finally separated - Garak really did have an early appointment, after all - and gazed longingly at each other as they parted; Garak found, as he walked back to his room, that his knees were uncharacteristically wobbly for the first few minutes. Bashir sat down on the edge of his bed, covered his face with his hands, and simply breathed in and out - his heart was too full to do anything else for a good long while.

They were both smiling beatifically, however.

 

Step 8: Hand to Head

Of all times to get sick, just when he and Garak had a dinner and a concert planned, just when the new aspects to their relationship were at their most fresh and tentative and exciting - and now he had to cancel and remain bundled up in his quarters, feverish and exhausted. He must have picked up a flu or something similar during one of his recent journeys away from the station - or possibly, instead, someone had infected him either in the usual course of the day on DS9 or in the infirmary.

It really wouldn't have mattered very much, getting sick right now - things were quiet on the station, his work schedule was light, and in an odd way, he welcomed the break - he had been so busy the past few months. And this particular strain of flu was nowhere near the worst he'd ever seen or experienced - beyond feeling chilled and extremely tired, he was able to breathe fairly easily and barely coughed. All he needed was rest, and he should be fine within a day or two.

It was only that the timing of this particular bout left him petulant - this was supposed to be a real date, of the classic sort that he might perhaps have invited a human companion, male or female, to share. Dinner followed by a concert, not just a walk to look at plants or stars. A real date. Damn. Bashir curled up more tightly in the blankets. Despite the fact that he had increased the temperature in his room to practically GARAK'S standards, the fever still left him shivering. Thus when the door chime sounded, he was in no mood to drag his chilled but sweating body out of the blankets and crawl to the door. So he ignored it until the chime sounded again. He groaned.

"Yes? Who is it?"

"It's Garak - may I come in?"

"Of course - but maybe you shouldn't..." Garak had already entered the room - Bashir wasn't quite sure if the Cardassian had somehow managed to circumvent the lock or if Bashir's own voice had released it, but no matter. He stayed huddled under the blankets, with only his face showing.

"Doctor - shouldn't you be in the infirmary?"

"No, no - it's not that bad. Just a little bout - I've already been tested and I should be fine in a day or two."

"Isn't there anything you could take to stop this?"

"No - not worth it. I'd rather not deal with the side effects. I did take something for the fever, but now I just need rest." He sank down lower under the covers. "Now I know how you feel, Garak."

"Hmm?" Garak approached the bed and sat down next to it.

"I'm so COLD!"

"Ah." Garak watched him with concern; Bashir closed his eyes. "Can I get you some tea? Or some soup?"

"No, no. Nothing, thanks. I just need to rest."

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I'll be going soon." He made no move to rise, however. "I just wanted to see how you were. I worry about you, you know. You drive yourself so hard." Bashir made a deprecating face which Garak couldn't see. "Well, as I said... I'll let you sleep." Again he remained seated near the bed.

"You don't have to, you know," Bashir murmured, his voice muffled by the blanket.

"Don't have to -?" He could sense the Cardassian leaning closer to him.

"You don't have to leave yet. I don't mind if you - want to stay a while. I mean - unless -"

"I'd love to. Now go to sleep. I'll be here if you need anything later." Bashir sighed, contented, and pulled the blanket up almost to his eyes. He was perspiring and the edge of the blanket was wet but the cocoon of heat underneath was enough to keep him there. As he drifted back into a feverish half-doze, he felt a hand suddenly come to rest softly on his damp head. Garak! Garak was stroking his head, hot and clammy with perspiration, tracing small circles with his fingers and gently twining his fingers in his wet hair.

"Oh Garak... You don't have to... That must be rather disgusting for you..."

"Shh. Get some rest." The hand didn't leave his head.

"Wouldn't want you getting sick too..." Bashir fell back into a doze, Garak's soothing touch comforting him more than he ever would have imagined. Garak's hand must have absorbed some of the heat being thrown off Bashir's body because there was no jarring sensation of coolness, just relief. How wonderful it felt to be cared for like that. What a success this date had turned out to be after all.

 

Step 9: Hand to Body

"Garak - what do you like to do for fun?"

The Cardassian had lifted his eyes to the human, amused, as he and Bashir sat together in the replimat. "For fun, doctor?"

"I mean, when we're not together - what are your hobbies? What do you enjoy doing to relax?"

Where to begin, Garak pondered, where indeed to begin...

"I keep telling you what *I* like, and taking you places that I think are fun, but what do YOU like to do? What would you be doing this evening, for example, if I hadn't asked you?" Again Garak thought, where to begin...

"Well, I suppose I'd listen to some music, read a novel, maybe find Odo and see if he'd be willing to play a game of kotra..."

"Want to play with me?" Garak's eye ridges shot up to the ceiling. "I'm afraid I'm not very good, though." Oh, Garak thought, don't be too sure... Oh.

"You mean kotra."

"Yes, of course - what did you think?" Bashir smiled, thought for a second, and smiled even wider, then hurriedly changed the subject. "So - what did you do last weekend when I was sick? When you weren't with me? And thank you for that, by the way."

"I caught up on my reading - I looked at the new styles from Bajor - I made some soup -"

"You mean replicated some soup?"

"No, made it. I was reminded of how comforting it can be - after I offered to bring you some. I decided to make some of my own then, but it didn't turn out very well."

"Want to try it again? Together? We could make that old Earth classic, chicken noodle soup. I'm still a little tired out from the flu - I could really use it."

"What's a chicken noodle?"

Bashir sighed.

And so it was that the two found themselves in Garak's quarters, his desk serving as a makeshift counter, a small crock pot of broth bubbling away to the side. Bashir was chopping celery and carrots, Garak was removing the - helpfully already cut up - chicken pieces from a bag. The Bajoran variety of chicken, that is - Bashir had deemed it satisfactory. The noodles, already cooked, were cooling in a strainer and Bashir reached around the Cardassian's back to take one and pop it into his mouth. As he did so, Garak turned and captured his face in a kiss.

"I do enjoy this, doctor. It IS fun - and it already smells delicious."

Bashir beamed at him. "We could do this more often - try to prepare real food - it's healthier in many ways, and besides, Commander Sisko would be so proud of us." His hand fell to Garak's back and he started to rub him between the shoulders. Garak leaned into the touch, so Bashir began moving his hands down further, roaming over his shoulders, his back, then sliding down to touch the very top of his hips. Garak turned his head and lunged for him for another kiss; Bashir smacked him lightly and playfully on the bottom and Garak gasped in surprised shock.

"Doctor!"

"You had that coming - we have to finish preparing this first! No kissing!" He then placed both hands firmly on Garak's hips and pulled him closer. "Do you hear me? No kissing!" He leaned forward and kissed him soundly on the lips, then pushed him back. "NO KISSING!" Garak again lunged for him, but Bashir had managed to wriggle free and had nearly made his escape, until the Cardassian grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him back and lightly smacking him on the seat of his pants in return, then rubbing the spot as if to soothe it. Bashir half-dragged him over to the couch and pushed him down onto it, climbing on top of him and straddling him, stroking Garak's chest through the Cardassian's heavy tunic.

"Don't make me have to tell you again - no... kissing..." Bashir leaned down, his hands trailing up and down Garak's arms as he kissed him, Garak kissing him back enthusiastically. Even through their thick clothing, however, both men could tell that the situation was beginning to escalate; Bashir slowly and regretfully slid off and returned to the desk and the soup, now merrily and fragrantly boiling away in the kettle. Garak joined him a minute later, silently wrapping his arms around him from behind and standing still for a while, his chin resting on his beloved's shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

Step 10: Mouth to Body

It was true - Garak's style in water wasn't really that of a traditional swimmer. Bashir couldn't help reflecting, as he paddled with the Cardassian down the length of the pool, that Garak's swimming method resembled nothing so much as the predatory side to side swishing of a crocodile, with the legs used for added strength - there was very little arm movement and he seldom put his head completely under the water. On the other hand, he was rather fast and Bashir, more of a recreational swimmer than an athletic one, had a hard time matching his speed as they propelled themselves down adjacent laps. He knew the crocodile comparison was a little unfair but he couldn't help it - the eye and forehead ridges, poised just above the surface of the water, were such a strong reminder, as was the fact that Garak, normally so voluble, was a nearly silent swimmer - in fact, not even the water made much of a sound as he glided through it.

When they had finished, hoisted themselves out of the pool and lay contentedly side by side on towels they had spread over reclining deck chairs, Bashir relaxed blissfully under the "artificial sun" and turned on his side to address his friend. "See? That wasn't so bad - I think you'll really enjoy swimming as a way to liven up your exercise routines, use some different muscles."

"Perhaps. I'm still too cold, though."

"But we've got the the water set at - I don't know, about 30 degrees C? Isn't that all right?"

"Still too cold." He stretched just a little more under the overhead heat lamps, arching his neck and his back and closing his eyes. Bashir, still partially reclining while lying with his head on one arm, watched him tenderly. Garak's muscular chest was rising and falling with his breathing; he was wearing Earth-style swim trunks, just as Bashir was, so his chest was bare and was patterned with the most enticingly complicated network of scales and ridges that Bashir had ever seen. He was particularly entranced with the set of soft scales that ran down each side of the chest, from the breastbone, to meet at his stomach before they formed into the set of pubic ridges just below that - those were mostly covered up now by the clothing.

Bashir reached out to touch those soft scales, near the Cardassian's waist, and happened to notice a faint - a very faint - marking, then another, then another. The heat, the effect of the long soak in the pool, and the angle of the lighting must have brought those indistinct traces into fuller relief. Bashir then saw one particularly long scar travel all the way from the breast to the area under the arm, then disappear under Garak's back; he partially rose from his chair then and saw nearly invisible lines running through the patterns of ridges on his shoulders, as if a few of the gaps between them had once been penetrated or hurt in some other way. Everything was healed now; all the old scars and marks and indentations were doing their best to blend in with the surrounding skin and scales and give nothing away.

But to the doctor, they gave everything away. He was mortified. Garak, during all the occasions in which he had hinted at things he had done, offenses he had (or may have) committed, hardships and trauma he had inflicted on others, had never once revealed the many things that most definitely must have been done to him. And not just done in return - even his brief visual examination told Bashir that some of these marks were most likely from childhood. What did they DO to you, he wanted to cry out; why did they hurt you - who did this to you? Surely there were times when Garak had suffered for things he had NOT done, for offenses he had never committed, for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time, for punishment for the amusement or the entertainment of others...

Bashir desperately wanted to take him back to the infirmary, place him on a biobed under the examination lights, and map every scar he could find on the Cardassian's neck, chest, legs, turn him over and trace any marks that must surely be even more abundant on his back and on his hips... But this was not the time or the place for that. This was supposed to have been an energizing and then ultimately relaxing dip in the pool. How could it be relaxing and comforting to be summarily marched to an examination room and told to strip? Still, oh, but still, he had to do something - he had to. He had no choice.

He leaned over further toward the other man's chair - Garak's eyes were still closed and his breathing was regular - and very gently lowered his lips toward Garak's chest, aiming for one slightly more prominent scar that ran very close to a nipple. Then he kissed it. Garak shifted quickly under him and opened his eyes wide.

"What are - Doctor, someone could come in here!"

"Oh yeah." He sank back into his chair.

"What were you -"

"The scars, Garak. You never told me." He fell silent, then tentatively began again, at Garak's neutral expression, "So many of them. They - hurt you, didn't they?"

"'They'?"

"People - Bajorans? Cardassians? Your parents... Garak?"

"I'd rather just rest now, doctor. Let's just rest." Bashir was looking at him with wide, concerned eyes. He turned away again and stared at the ceiling. Just rest. Just -

"I want to help you, Garak," he burst out. "But I don't know how."

"I know." He was silent for a moment, eyes closed. Then he said, almost in a whisper, "You do help me, Julian. More than you realize. More than you can imagine."

"But will you let me -"

"Not now. Later."

Later. He could wait. He had no choice. It was, after all, Garak's body and Garak's choice.

 

Step 11: Hand (mouth) to Genital

Later. Bashir's room. All was quiet, deceptively so. Garak was nearly screaming out loud in his mind, but not from pain. Bashir had announced that he was going to give him a "massage" as a treat, and a bribe, after the swim, and Garak had agreed and was now desperately trying to hold himself in check.

Lying face down on the doctor's bed, the doctor's scent swirling all around him, the doctor's soft blankets and pillow under him, his dear Julian's hands kneading and pressing and sliding and stroking, all over his back, all down his shoulders and his arms and the back of his neck, not lingering too long on the neck ridges (the doctor was naive but not THAT naive,) but continually brushing them with a touch so maddeningly gentle that Garak thought he would lose his mind. Just why had he consented to this?

He knew why. He wanted to lose himself in that touch, in that compassion. His precious Julian had cried for him. CRIED. No one had cried for Elim Garak in his entire life, at least no one who had ever admitted that fact to him and let him see. Not even his own mother, who was so much under the sway of his father, she who so unquestioningly allowed his father to manipulate him and control him and hurt him. No... No one had ever cried for him.

But Julian had. Julian had waited until they were inside his room, the door closed, before he collapsed against Garak and sobbed. Garak hadn't known quite what to do - his arms awkwardly encircled Bashir's back and he patted the doctor's shoulder with a hesitant touch - this kind of thing had never happened to him before in quite this way. He had been cried upon before, had during different stages of his life held shaking bodies who cried against him, sometimes in relief and sometimes in terror, and he had endeavored during those times to provide such comfort or reassurance as he could either truthfully supply or invent - there were times when his comfort was false and the person he was comforting cried tears that almost burned him; he knew what what was eventually going to happen to them or to one they cared for and he was cold in the pit of his stomach. And no one would ever console him, later - no one would ever imagine that Elim Garak had any feelings, any regrets, any terrors of his own.

But that was many, many years ago. He was a different man now, but a harder, less emotional man. Resigned to his fate and grateful for the little kindnesses and connections that he occasionally received in his new home, never expecting anything more and, in the final analysis, not knowing if he'd even recognize anything more. Until Bashir cried for him, told him how sorry he was for the hurt he had gone through, how he wished he could take the pain away, how he wished he could make him forget.

Impossible, Garak thought, lying on his back on the bed, so decadently, so limp and satiated, while Bashir leaned over him, kissing his chest and his stomach, letting tears fall, hot and wet, onto his skin. The phrase "kissing the marks the lash has left" came unbidden to Garak's mind - he had read that phrase in a book once, a quote from a text written during the time of the Roman civilization on Earth - the civilization had always fascinated him because of its parallels with Cardassia, but now he was finding another parallel in it, that of a compassionate, too-gullible soul taking pity on the sufferings of a slave. Was he, in fact, the slave? It was quite possible. He would do anything Bashir asked of him.

But Bashir was asking nothing that moment except his acquiescence. He had helped Garak turn over, had propped a pillow under Garak's upper body to raise his neck and shoulders, and was now caressing his back, using no lotion or oil but just his hands and his lips. He traced a finger down Garak's back and every scale under that finger rippled to life, pulsing and flaring. Garak had never dreamed he could be this sensitive, this responsive. He suddenly craved the sight of the beautiful young doctor again and he began to roll back onto his side and then onto his back, Bashir guiding him on the narrow bed. The doctor had stopped crying but still sniffled once or twice, very quietly, like a child, and Garak's heart melted. "Julian," he murmured, "Julian, it's all right. Please stop crying - it's all right. You're making me feel so much better now - so please, don't cry any more. It's not necessary - I'm fine."

Bashir gazed at him in the soft starlight, brushed Garak's ridged forehead with his hand, and then climbed onto the narrow bed, straddling the Cardassian but not resting his weight fully on him. He leaned down against him and began kissing his chest again, then slowly slid down a little further, as far as the mattress would allow, and reached for the waistband of Garak's swim trunks. To his own shock and surprise, Garak's hand covered his, stopping him.

"No - no, this is enough for now - I think I should leave soon - remember, we said half an hour and it's long past that now."

"Hmm?" Bashir was blinking at him in the dim light, slightly dazed. "Why did we say that?"

"Julian - my dear Julian - I don't think this is the right time. You're obviously upset."

"This isn't because of pity, if that's what you mean." Bashir looked as if he were close to tears again. "This is because I love you, Elim. I want you to stay."

"I never meant - oh..." Bashir was now gently but persistently stroking him as Garak emerged into his hand, rubbing his fingers over the sensitive head and then - oh yes, he had lowered himself once more in front of the Cardassian and was now kissing him. Kissing him there. Just right. Just perfect. The lubricating fluid began to bead and then trickle, and still he kissed him, opening his mouth and taking him inside. His Julian. Caring for him - the one who cried over him. A tear slid down Garak's cheek, unobserved.

 

Step 12: Genital to Genital

But there were also many less serious moments, moments of happiness, joy, and even silliness between them. They had begun making a habit of spending two or three evenings a week together now, in the quarters of one or the other of them, watching public broadcasts from the various worlds most represented on the station. The entertainment sometimes veered off into the ridiculous - a Ferengi athletic contest that reduced both men to helpless puddles of laughter on the floor - or the tragic - a Trill documentary about the aftermath of an earthquake that caused Bashir to cry openly. Garak had fallen asleep on the couch that evening cradling the doctor in his arms. Such a sensitive soul - such a loving, sensitive soul. He felt privileged to know him.

This particular evening, however, the two were watching a drama from Bajor, an episode of a recurring series that followed the lives of two sisters, operating a farm after the Cardassian withdrawal. Bashir had been assured by Garak that this was an extremely popular drama on Bajor and that he, Garak, would not take offense at it, that in fact he was very curious to see it, as it was said to be taking a certain segment of the Bajoran population by storm. As the men watched, though, the reasons for the program's immense popularity became less and less apparent.

"This is - I don't know how to put it..."

"This is garbage, doctor."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. The scenery is certainly pretty - and the music..."

"But the acting! I wasn't aware that Bajorans prized melodrama quite this highly." One actress had just burst into tears, clapped her hands to her face, and collapsed dramatically across a bed. The histrionics were so overdone, so over the top, that Bashir began to grin. Garak simply stared at the viewscreen, annoyance on his face.

"My Bajoran isn't where it should be yet, Garak - why is she crying?" The program had not been translated into Standard.

"Her farm is being foreclosed on."

"Foreclosed on? By whom?"

"By the only Cardassian, it seems, able to own property on Bajor after the occupation - an evil miser named Toran Nevek."

"He owns their farm?"

"Evidently so, doctor." He scowled. Suddenly, the miser in question appeared on the screen, smirking and chuckling in cruel satisfaction. If he had had a mustache, Bashir reflected, he most definitely would have been twirling it.

"It's too bad, really - that gentleman is actually a fairly respected actor on Cardassia - classically trained and well able to interpret better material. I think this must be how he unfortunately pays his bills nowadays." Garak watched in silence for a while. "I've heard he's quite ubiquitous in Bajoran dramas - portrays everything from prison guards to soldiers to government officials. Always gets his comeuppance in the end, of course." He scowled again.

"Well, Garak, you can hardly blame them." Nevek had entered the sparsely-furnished bedroom and begun remonstrating with the woman; Bashir could make out the general meaning but not the details.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Garak sighed. "This is beyond ridiculous. I suggest we watch something else."

"No - now I'm interested," Bashir smiled, leaning back against Garak and drawing his arm around his shoulders. "What exactly is going on?" Garak's irritation was amusing him no end, and was at least as much fun to watch as the silly Bajoran drama.

Garak sighed. "Evil Nevek is threatening that - if the mortgage isn't paid in full and on time, he's going to - have his way - with the older sister, the one crying there."

"Oh my God!" Bashir exclaimed, horrified but guiltily smiling too - the actress looked like an ingenue from the earliest days of Earth cinema, all curls and ruffles and pale complexion, while the Cardassian was every silent movie villain rolled into one. This was truly remarkable entertainment. Nevek swept out of the small farmhouse without a backward glance, Garak becoming more and more vexed.

"Doctor, I really think I've had enough of this story. Remember, it's Bajoran - there will no doubt be some terrible retribution in store for him, or at the very least some highly improbable last-minute rescue to thwart him... Ah. Here it comes." On the screen, the younger sister had received a message at the communications unit and rushed in to her sister's bedroom with the good news. "Relatives have just procured the funds they needed - all is well." Garak reached out to turn off the viewscreen but stopped midway through.

"What is it?" Bashir grinned at his incredulous expression.

"The woman - the woman he threatened is telling her sister to keep quiet about the money - oh, this is sheer, unadulterated trash." He smiled despite himself. "I must admit that I didn't expect this at all - and, no doubt, neither did he when he signed on to this role." Nevek had returned; the older sister met him at the door, evidently confessed that all hope was lost, and collapsed against him. Garak let out a sharp bark of laughter and shook his head; Bashir watched, stunned, as the Cardassian on the screen lifted her into his arms and disappeared into the bedroom.

"They're not going to SHOW any of that, are they?" Bashir gasped in disbelief.

"No, doctor - I believe it is all now to be left to the prurient imaginations of bored, thrill-seeking Bajoran women."

"And perhaps a few - Cardassian men, eh, Garak?" Bashir smirked.

"Not this Cardassian man, doctor." Garak switched off the screen and rose to his feet, yawning. Bashir knew he was welcome to and even expected to stay; that was the understanding they had come to at the very beginning of their evenings together, no matter in whose quarters they found themselves. However, it was now time, perhaps, to add to the reasons for staying, and the program had serendipitously given him the final push he needed.

"Elim," Bashir said quietly, "I'm afraid I'm unable to pay you the rent I owe you."

Garak had been stretching, his arms behind his head, and looked down at him, confused. "Hmm? The rent, doctor?"

"Yes, I - I can't pay it." Bashir dramatically cast his eyes down and looked up at Garak through his lashes. "I'm so sorry. I knew you'd be angry, but there's really nothing I can offer you."

Garak's eyes slowly lit up and a sly grin spread over his face. "Oh, I think there is."

"But I have no money."

"We'll discuss that - in the bedroom." He scooped Bashir up into his arms and smiled adoringly at him.

"Garak - you know what those two were going to do, don't you..."

"Yes, Julian, I have a fairly good idea," he laughed.

"I mean, you know exactly what they were going to do." He paused meaningfully - Garak suddenly understood.

"And do you... want that, my love? Now?"

"I think I do. I think we both do."

"Then -" Garak murmured nervously, "you won't be upset with me if you don't - like it? It may be - uncomfortable - for you at first, you know. It may -"

"I'll love it. I love you." Bashir clasped him around the neck. "Elim," he whispered then against Garak's ear, "I'm ready for this. I want to feel what it's like to have you - there. Inside." Garak gazed at him in wonderment. "And then, perhaps -" No. He'd save that suggestion for later.

One step at a time.

 

The End


End file.
